Footprints
by Satanira
Summary: Do footprints ever truly fade? Only, perhaps, if they are forgotten. Please review. violence, sap, death


_This story was written as an entry for the Footprints contest at Link Worshiper's site. IT got runner-up. I hope you like it..._

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* * *

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**Footprints**

* * *

"Memories are a lot like footprints."

"What?" Duo said a lot of crazy things in our life together, and I was pretty used to it. It didn't surprise or bother me at all most of the time, but this felt... different.

"Memories. They're like footprints." He repeated, playing with the end of his braid. "Depending on what a footprint is set in, it could stay forever, or it could be gone in a second. It kind of gives you something to think about, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

* * *

I thought about Duo's words constantly for the rest of the day. I thought about them at work, on break, that afternoon when I took my daily walk.

It's strange the way the human mind latches onto something and imposes it over the world around you; I don't recall ever seeing so many footprints in one day. There was a barefoot girl at the park, leaving blurred tracks in the sandbox as she labored over a small sandcastle. There were two boys near the river, their shoes sinking into the mud and leaving impressions of the treads behind. A stray cat wandered onto a bed of wet cement, leaving tiny paw prints in its wake.

I thought about them right up to the bedroom door that night. Whether he'd meant to or not, Duo had given me a lot to think about, all right.

* * *

It was Saturday; my day off. I could lie around in bed all I wanted and not have to worry about being late. Neither did Duo, but he had probably been up with the sun, glued to his cartoons. I never really understood that particular obsession.

Sure enough, when I stumbled downstairs, there he was on the couch, hair unbraided, eyes on the television, laughing over the antics of a cat and mouse. I stood in the doorway for a moment, caught in the beauty of him; his long hair, his intense eyes, his generous mouth, his rich laugh, all of it. I couldn't imagine him being anything less than perfect.

"Hey, 'Ro!" He exclaimed, snapping me out of my thoughts. "You're just in time!" He patted the couch next to him and smiled, holding up a hairbrush in his other hand. "Come braid me!"

I smiled slightly and did as I was told, sitting down next to him and taking the brush. One of the only reasons I got out of bed at all on Saturdays was to braid his hair. It was a kind of rite of passage, a symbolic gesture to show how much he trusted and loved me. Aside from him, I was the only one allowed to touch his hair.

"What do you want to do today?" He asked. "I was thinking maybe we should go to that new place down on Cadelona. I hear they've got great sushi!"

"Nn." Was the only response required as I carefully ran the brush through his hair, untangling knots as gently as I could. For some reason, no matter what I said, he always knew what I meant. A grunt or single syllable was all it took to convey my answer; sometimes, I didn't need to say anything at all.

"Awesome. You'll love it; I've already been. The steak's great."

I set the brush down and began braiding, dividing his hair into three equal sections and folding one atop the other again and again, until at last the braid was complete and I could tie it off. The whole ritual had taken less time than a commercial break, but it was the most important part of any given morning for me.

"Done." I told him unnecessarily. "Breakfast?"

Duo laughed; although his food of choice in the morning was dry cereal, he usually made me something hot, like pancakes, toast, or waffles with bacon and eggs.

"IHOP." He said firmly, standing up and flicking off the television. Sometimes, he just wasn't in a cooking mood, and I was forbidden on pain of no hugging to enter the kitchen with the intent to cook.

So I smiled and followed him upstairs, watching the lazy swing of his braid with each step the way a cat will watch a piece of string being twitched in front of its nose. I even had half a mind to pounce on him. But on Saturday mornings, breakfast comes first.

* * *

IHOP wasn't very crowded yet; the sun might have been up, but most normal people were still asleep. We were seated without a wait, attended by a young waitress who was probably working her way through college.

"What can I get you gents?" She asked cheerfully in a strange accent, just as awake as Duo. "Coffee? Tea? Juice?"

"I'll have hot chocolate." Duo told her with his usual smile. "The zombie over there wants coffee. Don't even bother bringing creamer."

"Whatever you say," She replied and trotted off, leaving us alone in our corner booth.

We sat silently for a while, since I still wasn't quite awake yet, and Duo didn't seem to want to talk for once. Our waitress delivered our drinks and took our orders – plain toast for Duo, country omelette with extra sour cream for me – without a single word passing between us.

"Heero?" Duo asked quietly while we waited for our food, propping his chin up on his hands. "What are you thinking about?"

"Footprints." I answered, glancing up at his through a fringe of bangs that never stayed put.

"Footprints?" He repeated in a reverse of our conversation the previous day.

"'Memories are a lot like footprints,'" I quoted, wondering if maybe he'd forgotten.

"Oh, _that_." He said, smiling. "I didn't actually expect you to think so hard about that! It was just a random thought that popped into my head."

"There's truth to it, though." I protested softly, turning to stare out the window at the inbound crowd of diners. "Don't you think?"

"'Scuse me, gents, but your food's here!" A large, three-egg omelette smothered in sour cream with a side of hash browns slid in front of me, and four slices of diagonally cut toast landed in front of Duo.

Just as he always did, Duo grabbed the strawberry syrup and half-emptied it onto his toast. He said it tasted good, but I had my doubts. I'd much rather something that wasn't quite that… messy.

"I guess there _is_ something to it." He said suddenly, pausing in the steady inhalation of his second breakfast. "The two do have their similarities."

"Hn." I replied around a mouthful of egg and ham. Again, he got my message, and grinned.

"Ah, you're just being sour. Must be all the sour cream you eat." He joked, polishing off the last piece of toast. "Hurry up and finish; I wanna go to the park next."

By park, of course, he meant the Maxwell Church Memorial the government had erected on the site of Duo's old home. It had heavily influenced our choice of housing on the colony; we'd passed over bigger, better places with cheaper rent to be near the Memorial, and we visited it every Saturday.

* * *

We left IHOP and walked to the park, since it wasn't very far, and we were both in pretty good shape. It only took ten minutes or so, and we were barely winded by the time we got there.

"C'mon, Ro," Duo said, grabbing my hand and pulling me to get me to move faster. "I'll race you to the statue!" He let go and took off, making the best of his head start.

I gave chase, smiling to myself. We both knew I was faster than him and would probably win, despite his head start, so there was really no contest. He just felt like running.

I did beat him to the statue that time, and stood next to it, staring at the exquisite carvings.

The statue itself was the original memorial, paid for by the citizens of L2 rather than the government, and depicted a nun, a priest, and three young children in the middle of a game of some kind; the nun held a ball above her head, and the children were clustered around her, arms outstretched, while the priest stood nearby watching. All five were smiling, caught in a blissful moment of happiness that would last forever, if those around the park had anything to say about it.

If memories were indeed like footprints, set in different materials, then this statue represented a footprint set in concrete that had long ago dried, destined to remain there for eternity in Duo's mind.

Duo finally caught up to me, throwing an arm over my shoulders and leaning against me. He was a sprinter, not a cross-country racer like me, so he was panting by then.

"Man, Ro, I just can't win here, can I?" He demanded between gasps of air. "Not fair."

"Learn to run better, then." I said, smiling; we had this argument ever week, and I sometimes wonder if maybe he only did it to tease me.

"Shut up." He muttered, looking up at the statue. He knew every crack and crevice on it, but he always spent a minute or two just looking at it, remembering. I never interrupted him; I know what it's like, to go back in time like that. Trips down memory lane, for Duo, were best left uninterrupted.

"Duo," I said quietly after a while, judging enough time had gone by. "There's a free swing."

"Really?" There was nothing Duo liked better about the park than the swings. He always made a beeline for them, no matter who was watching. No few people had labeled him crazy when they saw him swinging like a little kid. I was often included in that category, since I was usually pushing him.

"Really." I pointed to the swingset, which was entirely deserted at this hour, and smiled as he took off again.

I followed more sedately this time, arriving at the swings after he'd gotten himself settled, and walked behind him without a word. Other people mighthave thoughtus insane, but this was a bonding ritual for us, and we weren't going to stop just for them.

* * *

We were lying on the grass near the statue a few hours later, when - "Hey, Ro?"

"Yes, Duo?"

"Will my footprints ever fade?"

It took me a moment to figure out what he was asking; I'd forgotten about our conversation on the swings.

"Of course not," I assured him, sitting up to better see his face. "Will mine?"

"Never."

* * *

A week later, we were out grocery shopping, having already visited the park. We were in the beverage aisle when Duo asked me something I'd never expected him to.

"Heero, if I die before you, what will you put on my headstone?"

"_What?_" Was all I could think of to say as I watched him calmly trying to decide between Dr. Pepper and Sprite.

"If I die before you, what will you put on my headstone?" He repeated, deciding on Sprite and dropping three two-liters into the cart. "Will you put a line of poetry? Or a quote? Will you write something sappy, or just have my name on it?"

"I… I don't know." I told him, wondering where this had come from. Neither one of us were in particularly dangerous professions; he worked as an errand boy for a local electricity company, and I worked as a shift supervisor in a food warehouse. He certainly didn't run the risk of dying anytime soon.

"If you don't mind," He said quietly, flashing me his brilliant smile again, "could you not have just my name?"

"O-of course."

* * *

A month passed with no more mention of headstones or footprints. Our life went its usual round through work, meals, weekly visits to the park, and evenings spent together. Quatre visited us twice in that time, Trowa once. Wufei called, just to see how we were doing, and Relena sent us flowers for our anniversary.

It was a Friday when Duo didn't come home.

* * *

I wasn't particularly worried; he'd stayed out all night before, and stumbled home with a hangover every time. He would be on the porch in the morning, holding his head and bemoaning the amount of alcohol he'd consumed the night before.

* * *

Saturday dawned clear and bright; the perfect weather to torture someone with a hangover while he waited for me to wake up. I made my way downstairs and to the front door, hiding a smile as I unlocked and opened it.

No Duo.

He wasn't on the back porch, either, or sitting in the yard. He was nowhere in or around the house.

I started to worry just a little, thinking maybe he'd gotten lost. Then I realized he must have gotten tired of waiting for me and gone to the park. So I grabbed my jacket and key, locked the door, and set off in search of Duo.

* * *

When I reached the park, it was empty. Duo wasn't sitting on the base of the statue or the swings; he wasn't lounging in the sandbox or on the slide; he wasn't sitting on any of the benches or wandering aimlessly between carefully maintained beds of flowers.

_I must have missed him on the way here._ I told myself, turning around. I managed not to run all the way to the house through sheer force of will. When I got there, the stoop was still empty.

Deciding it would be better if I waited for him at home, I went inside.

I'd barely had time to take off my jacket when the phone rang. It was probably Duo, calling from one of his haunts to tell me he'd passed out and needed a ride home.

I took my time getting to the screen and flipped it on after five rings.

"Hee- Heero?"

"Duo?" There was no picture; the screen was still black, although I had clearly heard Duo's voice. He sounded scared.

"Heero, we have a problem. I can't talk long, but if you turn on the news, you'll probably know what's going on."

"What?"

"Listen, Ro, they smashed my comm. pretty bad, so I'm not sure how long it'll work. I just want you to know that I love you. More than anything in the world."

"Duo, what-" A loud burst of static interrupted me, making me wince. When the noise died down, I could hear what sounded like a struggle, accompanied by cursing.

"Duo!" A gun discharged somewhere on the other end, and the line went dead.

* * *

The news on the incident was sketchy when I finally had the presence of mind to turn on the television. Stand-By Electrical was experiencing a hostage situation. Five employees were being held in the security office by three men armed with projectile guns and a small bomb. The identities of the hostages were unknown. Shots had been heard. The police were organizing a S.W.A.T. team to infiltrate the building.

Duo was inside that office, facing three madmen with guns.

* * *

I went directly to the SBE main building. There were news vans and police cars everywhere. No one was allowed within fifty feet of the building. Traffic was so bad, I was forced to leave my car on the side of the road and walk to the barricade itself.

The S.W.A.T. team was mobilized and ready to move in; the police were just waiting for the right moment. I knew that the right moment was long past by now, but I didn't say so. The armed men would be getting desperate for their terms to be met by now; police intervention after this point would only cause problems. But they didn't want a civilian telling them how to do their jobs.

So I stood there, leaning on the wooden barricade, praying that Duo would make it out of this alive and not do anything stupid.

* * *

The demands were impossible. They wanted ten million credits, safe passage to the shuttle bay, and a private shuttle arranged for their get-away. They wanted a civilian to deliver the credits and accompany them to the bay.

They were insane.

"Look, sending a civilian in there with the goods is just giving them another hostage!"

"What choice do we have?"

Two police officers were arguing nearby about whether the demands could be met or not. I moved closer to hear better, wondering when they were going to actually _do_ something.

"And where do you propose we find a willing civilian?"

"If I find someone who understands the situation and accepts the risks, will you let me go ahead with this?"

"By all means!"

These were the men and women who were supposed to protect us?

The first officer stalked away, grumbling under his breath, while the second stared at the ground, probably wondering what he'd gotten himself into.

I slipped under the barricade. I had to do something; Duo could already be dead for all I knew.

"Excuse me."

"Wha-" The officer nearly jumped out of his skin, his hand reaching for his gun. "W-what are you doing inside the barricade? Police only."

"Let me go."

"What?"

"Let me deliver the credits. I fought in the War in '95; I've dealt with situations like this before."

"But-"

"If you think I misunderstand the risks, you're seriously mistaken." I interrupted, putting on a slightly intimidating face. "I know they can kill me. I know they can use me to ask for further credits or goods. I don't care. Someone I love is in that office and I will do anything to make sure he's all right."

* * *

Ten minutes later, I was suited up in a bullet-proof vest under my jacket, armor under my pants and shirt, and a small radio behind my left ear. I had a card for ten million credits in my hand. I was putting my life in the hands of these men, and they probably knew it.

Duo would have been surprised at how scared I was, walking into the lobby, seeing the paper and furniture scattered across the floor, the bullet holes in the ceiling, and the overhead light dangling by a single thin wire. He would have laughed and said _'You? Scared? Never.'_

But I was terrified as I made my way to the office where Duo was, directed by a voice on the building's P.A. system.

* * *

When I reached the designated room, the door was wide open, giving me a clear view of the occupants and them a clear view of me.

One man on either side of the door, one on the desk; two hostages against the far wall, the other three out of sight. The guns were old models, practically obsolete. One of the hostages was bleeding from the corner of her mouth.

All this and more I noted as I walked slowly down the hall, stopping just outside the door.

"Well?" The man on the desk asked. I held up the card, the amount of credits embossed on its white surface in bold black letters: 10,000,000 C.

"Good. Come on in; we won't bite."

I did as I was told, stepping over the threshold. My eyes flickered around the room, looking for Duo.

He was slumped against the side of the desk, eyes closed, hidden from the hallway by the wall.

_Just like him to be sleeping at a time like this._ I thought with an inward smile.

I handed the card to one of the men near the door and started towards Duo, intent on scaring him witless. I was only a step or two away when I realized something was wrong.

Duo's right hand was pressed against his left side, drenched in red. His face was pale under his healthy tan, and he didn't look like he was breathing. I dropped to my knees, hardly believing my eyes.

"Duo?" I whispered, feeling along his jaw for a pulse. For a tense moment, there was nothing, and I almost wept. Then, weak, thready, but _there_, I felt the flow of blood through his artery. He was alive.

"C'mon, kid." The man on the desk said, grabbing my arm and trying to haul me to my feet. "We've got a shuttle to catch." I jerked my arm out of his grasp, not wanting to leave Duo like that.

"C'mon, Duo, wake up." I ordered softly. "You need to wake up for me, okay? Please?"

"Listen, punk…"

"Shut the hell up, already!" I snapped. "Take your money and go; I'm staying here." I didn't much care if these men got away with this. I only cared about Duo.

"R-ro?"

"Duo?" Thug forgotten, I turned back to Duo, afraid I had imagined that soft whisper.

"Ro, will… will my footsteps ever fade?" He asked, smiling weakly up at me.

"Never."

* * *

The S.W.A.T. team finally made it inside and apprehended the three men. The only person to have been seriously injured during the ordeal was Duo. Because he had called me. Because he hadn't wanted me to worry.

I was allowed to accompany Duo in the ambulance, but not into the operating room. I spent the night in the waiting room, worrying myself sick, to no avail.

Duo died on the operating table of internal bleeding, caused by a bullet lodged in his spine.

* * *

"_I'm not boring you, am I?" The young man asks, looking up at the woman next to him._

"_Not at all." She replies with a sad smile that doesn't touch her eyes. "And it's been five years?"_

_The young man nods, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes for a moment before the wind brushes it away again. "Seems like longer." He remarks quietly, staring at the grave in front of them, two dozen long-stemmed white roses resting on the withered grass._

"_It usually does." The woman assures him. "Talking helps, I've found."_

"_Yeah…" He answers, his eyes tracing the words carved into the best marble money could buy._

_The woman watches him a moment longer, than murmurs a hasty good-bye and leaves. The young man doesn't notice, still staring at the headstone, reading and rereading his final promise to the man he loved._

Duo Maxwell-Yuy

AC 180 – AC 199

'Your footprints will never fade.'

* * *

_Well, that's that, I guess. Tell me what you thought, okay? And before anyone mentions it, I know I suck at first-person POV, especially Heero's. REview and let me know I'm loved, okay? I'm gonna go drown myself._


End file.
